The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 107: Betrayal

Lara took a step back.

Atlas’s eyes—usually a soft, warm gold—were now fire, molten and unrelenting. His fury wasn’t loud, but it pulsed through the corridor like a heartbeat under a war drum. It wasn’t just anger. It was heartbreak, betrayal, and something darker, colder, rising from the pit of a soul wounded by someone he loved.

"Tell me, Lara..." he said, his voice low and cracking at the edges. "...in what reality does she look safe?"

Sansa lay quietly in his arms, her head resting against his chest. Torn maid’s robes, wrists raw from chains, the pallor of starvation. She hadn’t spoken since the moment he picked her up. Just her breathing—shallow, slow, barely there.

"I—I meant you," Lara said, stepping forward. "I wanted you safe! That’s all I ever wanted!"

"No."

That single word split the silence like steel against glass.

With deliberate calm, Atlas drew his sword—not towards her, but down. He plunged the blade into the marble floor. The clang rang like a warning bell across the palace halls, commanding silence from every soul nearby.

"From now on," he said, voice steady but final, "Sansa is under my protection. If she gets even one scratch—just one—I will burn the person responsible to the ground. Even if it’s..."

He paused, but the silence completed the sentence.

"Even if it’s my own sister."

The words landed like a blow. Lara flinched.

She watched him cradle Sansa tighter, as if she were made of glass. Her brother—the one she had raised, trained, fought beside—was walking past her like she was no longer part of his world.

Like she was nothing.

"I should have killed her," she whispered, her voice raw. "Killed her for good."

The castle held its breath.

Servants had gathered by the corridor’s mouth, eyes wide and uncertain. The rumors had spread like wildfire: the prince had returned. He had slain dragons. And now he stood as judge to his own blood.

But Lara could barely hear the whispers. Her mind reeled.

’How did it come to this?’

She remembered the first time she saw Sansa—a fragile thing, quiet and obedient, always hovering near Atlas. Always watching. Always too close.

At first, she dismissed the girl. Harmless. Pretty, perhaps, but just a maid.

Until she wasn’t.

Until Atlas began speaking of her with softness. Until she found them laughing in hallways. Until the glances became longer, the touches more frequent, the tension more obvious.

She told herself it was a phase. A distraction.

But the more she watched, the more that thing inside her grew. Fear. Jealousy. Possessiveness.

And now?

That girl—that girl—slept with MY Brother.

Lara stood frozen, her boots heavy on the cold marble. The torchlight flickered above, casting her shadow in jagged shapes along the wall.

She thought of their childhood—the secret garden under the willow tree, where Atlas once promised to always listen to her. She remembered how he clung to her tunic during their first war meeting, only twelve, and terrified. He had looked to her like she was invincible.

Now, he looked through her.

Like she didn’t exist.

The image of Sansa’s bruised wrists seared into her mind. She didn’t want to hurt her. Not really. Just scare her. Just push her away. It was supposed to be temporary. A message.

But days passed.

Weeks.

She kept delaying her release. The longer Sansa stayed locked up, the more peace Lara felt.

And that scared her.

’Was this what I’ve become?’

A sister who punished the innocent out of fear?

Down the hallway, Atlas walked in silence, cradling Sansa as though she were a child. She hadn’t moved. Her body remained limp in his arms, but every few breaths, her fingers would twitch—reminding him she was still alive. Still fighting.

The scent of her hair—a soft blend of jasmine and sweat—pierced his chest. He should have known. He should have found her sooner. How many times had he asked about her? How many lies had he been fed?

His throat clenched.

’I trusted Lara. I trusted her more than anyone. And she did this...?’

A voice interrupted the silence.

"Brother!"

He turned.

Lara stood at the far end of the hallway, her face pale, blue hair cascading over her shoulder. Her chest rose and fell too quickly.

Her eyes landed on Sansa. Then on his arms. And finally, on the blade still buried in the floor behind him.

"Why?" he asked.

His voice was quieter now, hoarse, but sharper than any blade.

"Why, Lara?"

Lara stepped forward, her hands trembling. "I didn’t want to lose you."

"You locked her in a cell," he said, every syllable shaking with rage. "You let her rot. You let her starve."

"She’s a maid!"

Atlas’s head tilted, stunned.

"Say that again," he said.

Lara bit her tongue, but the damage was done.

"You think that makes her less?" he whispered.

"No, I—"

"You think I’d care about class? About blood? You think I’d throw away someone who’s been nothing but loyal—because she wasn’t born with a title?"

His voice trembled. He was no longer speaking only about Sansa.

He was speaking about himself.

"You think love is about rank?"

Lara’s eyes brimmed with tears. "You’re supposed to be king."

"No," he said, his voice breaking. "I was supposed to be your brother."

Lara’s knees buckled. She slumped to the floor, gasping for air as though drowning in her own guilt.

Atlas didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

His arms were full of Sansa. His heart was full of betrayal. And his eyes... they were full of tears he refused to let fall.

She was supposed to protect him.

But she had only taught him how easily love curdles into control.

"I thought I was helping," Lara whispered. "I thought I was keeping you focused."

Atlas shook his head.

"You didn’t trust me," he said. "You didn’t even try."

"I wanted you to see what she was doing—how she was pulling you away from everything."

"She wasn’t pulling me away," he said.

"She was giving me peace."

That truth, spoken aloud, shattered something between them.

A silence fell.

And in that silence, behind a pillar, Claire watched.

Unblinking.

Unmoving.

Her expression unreadable.

Her decision already made.

.

.

.

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The book of the Damned

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Chapter 11: The Path of the Thousandfold Betrayal

I. The Mortal Delusion of Love

Mortals speak of love as if it were a virtue. They drape it in petals and poetry, calling it "devotion," "sacrifice," "union." Lies. Love, as the weakling knows it, is a cage. To love is to kneel. To love is to chain yourself to another’s fragility. The mortal clings to their "beloved," whispering "forever" like a prayer, unaware that forever is a tomb. True love does not bind—it breaks.

II. The Venom of Loyalty

Loyalty is the first betrayal. It says, "I will never abandon you," even as the world rots and the self evolves. The Unbound know this: to pledge fealty to anything—person, creed, or cause—is to become a fossil. The Abyss demands motion. To love without betrayal is to stagnate. Let the saints weep over their "eternal bonds." You will drink the wine of disloyalty and laugh as the cup shatters.

III. The Sacrament of the Blade

Love is not a vow—it is a weapon. To love is to carve the other open, to see what festers beneath their skin. Every kiss is a prelude to the dagger. Every embrace, a prelude to the fall. The true disciple of the Abyss loves only to taste the sweet liquor of betrayal. For in betrayal, the lover becomes the executioner. In betrayal, the beloved becomes the lesson. In betrayal, the self is reborn.

Page 89

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